


just say you love me(and i'll say i'm sorry)

by officiallylexie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, I suck at tagging, M/M, Subspace, harry cries a lot idk, harry's kind of dumb, just read and find out i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officiallylexie/pseuds/officiallylexie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the one where harry loses louis and he loses himself in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just say you love me(and i'll say i'm sorry)

**Author's Note:**

> i wanna give a ton of credit to jenna( [x](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bfs/works) and [x](http://twitter.com/louisubspace) ) for being such a lovely person and helping me through this fic and giving me ideas and correcting my mistakes and practically writing this with me. she's been my mom throughout the writing of this fic, so yeah i owe this to her for being such a big help. :)
> 
> all mistakes are my own and this is completely fictional.

It’s 2:36 am when the front door opens for the first time since this morning. Earlier, Harry had kissed Louis on the cheek and mumbled something along the lines of _‘going out with Nick for breakfast, be home in a bit’_ and waltzed out of the front door.

Then around lunch time, Harry had called him and said he’d be out with Nick for a bit longer, told him they were going shopping. 

Now, it’s 2:36 am. Harry still isn’t home and Louis is _livid_.

He hears the front door open, creaking on its old and rusty hinges. There are footsteps on the cool, tile floor and Louis turns to see a sloppy, stumbling Harry shutting the door behind him and making his way to the living room that connects with the entrance way. Harry barely has time to shrug his cotton trench coat off and hang it on the rack before Louis’ yelling, “Where the fuck have you been?” 

Harry looks confused, cocking his head to the side and furrowing his eyebrows. It agitates Louis more. “What do you mean? I said I was with Nick,” he murmurs, words only slightly slurred, less sloppy than Louis had anticipated. 

“Yeah, for breakfast and shopping! Do you know how long I waited for you?”

“I didn’t say you had to wait up for me, L-” Harry starts to argue, but Louis cuts him off sharply, raising his right hand and taking a step forward, wanting to make his point well-known. 

“Don’t give me that shit!” he yells, “you know I can’t sleep here without you!”

Harry’s face seems to soften at that and it makes Louis even more pissed, but he tries to calm it, taking in a deep breath that sits heavy on his lungs and his chest, aching.

“Why are you here so late?” he mumbles, looking at the grey tiled floors for a moment, then back up at Harry. 

“Why do you care, Louis? I said I was out with Nick. Don’t you trust me?” 

His voice is slow, a little condescending and it makes Louis ball his fists and run a hand through his hair. “Who the fuck said I didn’t _trust_ you, Harry?” he yells, louder than before, “I just want to know why you’re walking through my door at two o’clock in the morning when you said you’d be home hours ago!”

Harry frowns, voice soft when he speaks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I’d be out so late, just kinda lost track of time. I should’ve called.” He makes his way to the kitchen, as if everything is settled and Louis follows him, eyes wide. He hears the fridge open and watches as Harry rummages through the top shelf on the door. “What’ve you done with the water bottles? You never put them in the right place,” he grumbles. 

Louis furrows his eyebrows and laughs bitterly, shaking his head and running a wobbly hand through his hair as he steps towards Harry and slams the fridge door shut, making Harry back up a little. 

“Y’know, maybe you should just go stay with Nick. That’s where you’d rather be instead, anyway,” he spits. 

Harry curses under his breath and grabs one of the plates sitting on the counter from earlier, throwing it against the wall. “God dammit, Louis, would you just fucking drop it?!”

“Oh, look at you, big bad Styles throwin’ shit and thinking you’re tough,” Louis mutters, rolling his eyes and looking down at the ground,

He feels a firm, cold hand on his cheek and the sharp, hot sting of a slap, making him stumble backwards until he’s leaning on the chair at the table. He looks up and he sees Harry, hand clapped over his mouth and eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights. Louis is speechless, jaw gaped and eyes teary. 

“Oh my God, Louis...I’m so sorry, fuck,” Harry murmurs out quickly and as he reaches a hand out, Louis is screaming at him, not even caring anymore. About anything. 

“Get the fuck out of my house!” 

Harry slumps down a little and Louis sees his eyes are watering, but he doesn’t care about that; not now. “Get out!” he yells again, pointing a shaky hand at the door and staring directly at Harry. He can’t let himself cry. He’s not going to cry. He’s not. 

“Louis, pleas-”

He stops when Louis stands up straight, pushes past Harry without a word and walks to the door, ignoring Harry’s pleas and his apologies. Sliding his white vans on and his blue, denim jacket over his shoulders, he notices he’s still wearing his navy pyjama bottoms and his grey t-shirt. He doesn’t care, can’t stay in this house.

Harry is sobbing and standing behind Louis, begging him not to go and Louis can tell that he’s not even daring to lay another hand on him. Louis is thankful for that. He slips his phone and his keys into his pocket and storms out of the house without so much as a glance in Harry’s direction, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

*

The tiles are colder under Harry’s feet than usual, the wood of the coffee table seeming to splinter him as he runs his fingers over it, the metal frame of his and Louis’ bed seeming to rust right before his eyes. The house is always quiet and eerie. It doesn’t feel much like a home anymore. 

His bare feet are always cold in bed at night. He’s always hated wearing socks to bed and he just can’t bring himself to start.

It didn’t used to be a problem. Before, he would press his cold feet against Louis’ warm ones. Louis would tell him, _“your piggies are like ice cubes,”_ and Harry would smile and bury his face into his neck and giggle. They would then go to sleep, curled up and warm and cozy. 

But Louis isn’t there for Harry to cuddle up to or to press his cold feet against. He isn’t there to make him giggle and blush and to hold him close all through the night whilst he sleeps. A part of Harry is angry about that, wants to throw things and be mad at Louis for leaving him all alone without any skin he can study about. But another part of him blames himself, realises it’s all his own fault. 

It’s been a month and Harry is a wreck. 

He’s called Louis’ phone non-stop and Louis never answers. He’s texted Louis more times than he can count and Louis reads them all, but he doesn’t reply. 

All of Louis’ belongings are still where they were before. His shampoo is still in the basket in the shower, along with his razor, his conditioner, and his favourite soap that Harry’s always hated, but recently can’t stop himself from lathering all over his body. 

It’s been a month and Harry’s going a bit mad. 

 

*

 

The music sounds through his ears, the bass thumping in his chest, and the alcohol pumping through his bloodstream. He’s sweating, leaning against the bar and sipping on a beer slowly, the sweat from the bottle making his hands wet and his fingers numb.

As he looks around the crowd, a brown-haired boy with blue eyes catches his eye. He’s swaying his hips to the beat of the music. Harry’s heartbeat speeds up a little and his eyes widen. It’s gotta be Louis. It _has_ to be. 

He rushes over, pushing past the hoard of people with tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn't seen Louis in so long, has only relied on the pictures around the house and the pictures on his phone. 

The brown-haired, blue-eyed boy turns around and Harry feels his heart sink to his stomach when he realises it isn't Louis. The boy's lips are a little fuller and he's a lot thinner. He's fully-shaven and his nose is a little pointier than Louis'.

He sure does look a lot like him, though. And maybe Harry can pretend that it is Louis. He can just have him for the night, something to fill this empty hole sitting so heavily on his chest. Somewhere in his alcoholic state of mind, he thinks it's a good idea and he ignores the little voice in the back of his head telling him otherwise. 

"You just gonna stand there or are you gonna buy me a drink?" the boy asks, voice significantly lower than Louis', but higher than Harry's own. 

Harry hesitates for a moment, licking his lips. "What's your name?" he asks. It's stupid and the boy seems a little taken aback, raising an eyebrow and running a hand through his sweaty fringe. 

"I'm Jesse."

"Nice to meet you, Jesse. I'm Harry. Why don't we skip all this and jump to the part where I take you home," he says slowly, bluntly. Jesse looks properly taken aback now and Harry feels like an asshole. Sort of. "Because we both know that's where this is headed anyway."

Jesse's eyebrows raise and he chuckles. "What makes you think I want to go home with you? Maybe I just really want a drink," he murmurs, but steps closer to Harry, cold, small hands on his chest and Harry shivers. "But yeah, alright. Let's go."

The ride back to the house in the cab is short. Jesse is on his lap with his hands on Harry's chest and kissing him so sloppily and eagerly. Harry's hands rest on the boy's hips, fingertips searching for something thick to squeeze, but Jesse is all bone, so Harry settles for tugging at his shirt. 

When they get to the house, Jesse pushes Harry against the door and immediately drops to his knees. Harry lets his head fall back against the wood as Jesse undoes his trousers and Harry's alcohol-washed mind blurs. 

 

*

 

Harry wakes up in the morning with a dry mouth and a pounding head. He's not alone, though, he realises as he groans and rolls over. There's a boy curled up under his arm and he whimpers in his sleep when Harry moves. 

He remembers the boy's name to be Jesse, remembers taking him home in a drunken stupor. Harry thinks he looks less like Louis when he’s slightly less intoxicated. He runs his thumb over Jesse’s nose and sighs. He doesn’t have the little freckle on the bridge of his nose like Louis does.

“I know you’re staring,” the boy suddenly mumbles, eyes still closed. There’s a small smirk tugging at his lips and Harry runs his thumb over it. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Harry rolls his eyes and sits up a little, pulling away. “I have to leave soon. I have a, uh, meeting.” 

It’s clearly a lie, but Harry doesn’t really care that much. He’s already slightly annoyed that Jesse is still here; it’s noon, for fucksake. 

Jesse hums, opens his eyes and looks up at Harry with a small chuckle. It’s apparent that he sees right through Harry’s poor excuse. “Well, since I let you take me home, I’ll let you buy me lunch.”

 

*

 

Lunch is slow. It seems that all Jesse does is talk and make googly eyes at Harry. He’s a little annoyed, mostly because he’s hungover, but also because Jesse is a bit much, a bit too clingy.

In the hour they spend at the little cafe on the corner of South, Harry learns that Jesse works as a waiter at a small, little restaurant that Harry’s never even heard of. He learns that he’s going to UNI and that he’s studying to be a psychologist, something Harry’s always found interesting, but never made an effort to pursue. He’s a bit too dense, if he’s being honest with himself.

Harry couldn’t manage to stop himself from telling Jesse all about Louis, would find ways to bring him up in a conversation. Nearly everything reminds Harry of him and Harry could tell that Jesse was getting annoyed, frustrated even, maybe. And Harry tried to speak less of Louis, not wanting to make Jesse feel bad or make him upset. He thinks maybe he did an okay job. 

“Where do you live?” Harry asks as he signs the receipt after paying the bill, looking up at Jesse who has his head cocked to the side as if the question has completely caught him off guard. Harry raises an eyebrow and looks down again, proceeds to write down a percentage.

“Oh, I can’t go home yet,” Jesse replies, smiling a little and wiggling around in his seat. Harry lets out a soft sigh and looks up again, setting the receipt down as well as a few pounds to tip their server. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because I have my clothes at your place. Also, my phone and my wallet and my keys.”

Harry had put Jesse’s clothes onto wash this morning because they were a bit sweaty and sticky. At the time, he thought it was the nice thing to do, but now he’s kind of regretting it. It’s not that Jesse’s a bad person or terribly insufferable; it’s just that Harry’s hungover and he’s a bit of a grump and he’s still depressed about Louis and he doesn’t want to deal with someone talking his ear off. 

He bites his lip and tries not to look too put-off. He wants to stay polite because Jesse has been nothing but kind to him. So he nods, stands up and shrugs on his coat. “Alright, my place it is, then.”

 

*

 

As Harry pushes open the door to the house and walks inside, Jesse goes straight to Harry’s room and bends over, a bit more than is necessary, to collect his wallet, keys, and mobile.

Harry stares at him for a moment and he can practically feel Jesse’s smirk, so he clears his throat and leans against the door frame. “I’ll, uh, go get your clothes from the dryer,” he murmurs and gives Jesse a once-over before doing just that.

The moment he bends over to get the clothes out of the dryer, Jesse is right behind him with his hands on his hips and he’s leaning down, breathing hotly down Harry’s neck. His hands come up to rub his chest and over his nipples slowly. Harry lets out an involuntary moan and bites his lip.

He turns his head to look at the boy smirking down at him, offers a small smile and gasps a bit as Jesse rolls his nipple between his thumb and forefinger, letting his eyes flutter shut. 

“Really want you,” Jesse murmurs and Harry only nods.

He tries not to feel too guilty and terrible for letting Jesse fuck him against the dryer that still has Louis’ dirty clothes sitting in a hamper beside it. 

 

*

 

A few weeks go by and it feels like Harry spends every waking moment with Jesse. He’s always over and at one point, while they were lying in bed and Harry was tracing Jesse’s cheekbones with his thumb, Jesse had said, “where are we?” And Harry was a bit confused because well, they were at his house and they were in South London. 

“I mean like where _are_ we? Where do we stand?” Jesse had clarified, biting his lip nervously and Harry had pulled it from his teeth slowly, kissing him to delay answering the question. He didn’t know then and he still doesn’t. He had ended up saying, “wherever you want us to stand,” and Jesse had replied, “I want to be yours,” and Harry had nodded, kissed his cheek and said, “okay.”

Their first fight is one of the nights that Harry has friends over. Everyone is drinking and Jesse is kissing Harry’s neck and Harry is sipping on a beer and laughing with Niall and Nick. Later that night, after everyone leaves, they’re lying in bed and Jesse cuddles up to him, buries his face in his neck and sighs. “I think I love you,” he says quietly and Harry remembers his mouth opening and closing, but nothing coming out. He remembers Jesse waiting for a few minutes before pulling away with a shake of his head and sitting up. “Forget it,” he tells Harry. 

Harry tries to explain that it isn’t Jesse, tries to explain that things are just a bit too fast, but Jesse isn’t having it. 

“Alright, cut the bullshit, Harry,” Jesse spits, catching Harry a little off-guard. “This has to do with Louis, doesn’t it? Jesus, Harry. It’s been two and a half months!”

Harry just stares at Jesse, wide-eyed and mouth hanging open a little. He tries not to get angry, tries to keep his cool because even though Jesse doesn’t mean much to him, he’s still someone to talk to and someone who is kind to him and patient with him. Harry can tell his patience is wearing thin. 

“I know, I know and I’m sorry. It’s just hard, alright? All of this is happening so suddenly and so soon after and it’s just a lot. I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, shaking his head and biting hard on his lower lip. Jesse stands up and shakes his head, “you should have considered that before you agreed to be with me.”

In that moment, Harry wants nothing more than to defend himself, to scream at Jesse that he isn’t the one who initiated a relationship. It started out as a simple one-night stand and Jesse had pushed it to be something more, something Harry wasn’t and still isn’t ready for. But he doesn’t say any of that and he won’t. 

Jesse goes home that night and comes back the next morning. Harry apologises and they fuck as a form of making up. Things go back to normal, the normal that isn’t actually a normal. It’s just a routine that Harry has accustomed himself to. And he tries to be okay with it. 

 

*

 

They fight a lot after that and it’s stupid, really, how common and usual it is for them to be having a nice moment and then be fighting the next. Harry isn’t happy. He wasn’t happy from the beginning and it feels like everyday that passes, he grows more and more unhappy. 

And like, Harry tries to be a good boyfriend- mostly because he feels bad for leading Jesse on. He doesn’t really have the heart to tell him to sod off. So he takes him on a little dates. Sometimes, Harry picks Jesse up from the restaurant and they go out to the movies and other various date-places. 

The last time, though, that they were at the movies, Harry had seen Zayn with his girlfriend. It had been a while. Harry has kind of pushed away all of his friends since what happened with Louis. 

“Hey mate,” Zayn had greeted and Harry had smiled, pulled him into a hug and asked him about how he was and what was new. Jesse was still clung to Harry’s side and Harry had desperately asked about Louis. 

“How is he?” he had asked, chewing on his lower lip. Harry was kind of hoping that Louis was just as miserable as he was, still is, still hopes; as bad as it is. But to his dismay, Zayn had only shook his head and sucked in a deep breath, patted Harry on the shoulder. 

“I can’t tell you.”

Harry had frowned at that, had questioned Zayn and nearly threw a fit. Zayn had apologised and as soon as he was gone, Jesse had pulled Harry to the side and hissed in his ear, “Harry, you’re on a date with me. Stop talking about Louis.” He had a disgusted look on his face that Harry can’t forget. He’s an asshole, really, for stringing Jesse along.

He’s even more of an asshole for slamming Jesse against the wall later that night and hate-fucking him until he was crying. 

 

*

 

_It’s dark and the house is cold and quiet. Harry is angry. He’s screaming profanities and throwing things at the wall. Louis is making sarcastic remarks that only anger Harry more._

_He throws a coffee mug straight at Louis’ head. He doesn’t see it, but he hears the cry of pain._

Harry sits up straight, still half asleep. “Louis?!” he screams, throwing the covers off and standing up. As he looks around, he realises it was all just a dream. Jesse is stirring in bed beside him and Louis is no where in sight. Harry is crying, sitting down on the edge of the bed and shaking. 

He feels the bed shake at the same time that he hears Jesse’s footsteps on the tile floor. He hears him grumble something, but he doesn’t pay attention to it. 

“Fuck, you’re never getting over him, so what’s the point of me even being here?” Jesse snaps and Harry doesn’t flinch or blink an eye, doesn’t say anything as he watches Jesse get dressed and grab his things. He watches as he leaves the room and listens to the front door slam after a few more moments. 

Maybe he should be a bit sad that Jesse left, but he isn’t. At all. In fact, he feels a little relieved. He’s still crying, though, and he’s still hurting, and Louis is no where in sight. 

 

*

 

Harry stays awake the rest of the night and it’s 11 a.m. when he hears a knock on the front door. He’s curled up on the couch, the television on, but it’s on mute and his eyes are on the ceiling.

Hesitantly, he gets off of the couch and makes his way to the door, still in his boxers and one of Louis’ UNI sweatshirts. When he turns the cold knob of the door and pulls it open, he sighs when he sees Jesse standing there in front of him. 

“Come in, I guess,” he mumbles, pouting and stepping aside as Jesse steps into the house. Harry follows him to the living room. 

“Look, I just came to tell you that this really isn’t working out, Harry,” Jesse murmurs and Harry only nods, doesn’t really care. “I mean, you’re obviously not into this, into me. It’s obvious you’re still in love with that Louis kid and I’m not really into getting strung along while you figure your life out.”

It stings a little, to hear the truth finally said. Sure, Harry knows he’s been stringing Jesse along, knows he’s still so gone for Louis, but to hear it finally said has a different impact. 

There’s another knock at the door and Harry sighs, holds up his pointer finger as he makes his way toward the entrance way. He opens the door and his mouth falls open when he sees Louis standing right there. 

“Just came to get my stuff,” he says and Harry feels his heart break into even smaller fragments. 

“So you’re the Louis who fucked him up,” Jesse muses from behind Harry as Louis steps into the house. Harry shuts the door and just watches, his eyes trained on the back of Louis’ head. _He’s here._

“Excuse me?” Louis huffs, raising an eyebrow and looking between Harry and Jesse. Harry is speechless and Jesse is wearing one of Louis’ _Manchester United_ t-shirts. He must have thought it was Harry’s.

Jesse holds his hands up in defence and chuckles breathily. “See ya later, Harry. Nice to meet you, Louis, I suppose.” He vaguely gestures at Louis as he walks to the door and exits the house, the door slamming behind him. 

As soon as he’s gone, Louis is crossing his arms and staring at Harry. “Who the fuck is that and why is he in my shirt?” he snaps. Harry feels his eyes water and he shakes his head, running a wobbly hand through his hair.

“Fuck, Louis, I thought you’d never come back. I’m so sorry,” he breathes, reaching a hand out to reach for Louis, but Louis takes a step back. 

“I asked you a question, Harry. Who is that kid and why the fuck is he in _my_ house, wearing _my_ goddamn shirt?” Louis’ voice is tense and shaky with anger and Harry feels himself straighten up a bit, eyebrows furrowing. He wipes his eyes and stares at Louis, incredulous and a bit angry. 

“You think you have the right to call this _your_ house when you left me here in it for three fucking months, Louis?! And without even a proper goodbye! You just left and now you come back and you call this _your_ house?!” Harry yells, taking a step forward and Louis flinches, takes a step back. Harry’s face softens and his eyes well up all over again because Louis is _scared_ of him. The love of his life is scared of him and _fuck_ , Harry would never hit Louis again.

He starts to full on sob, shaking his head and opening his mouth to speak even though nothing but choked sobs come out. 

“Fuck, Louis, I’m so sorry,” he sobs, closes his eyes tightly and leans against the side of the couch. “I’m so sorry. You had a right to leave. I-I’m so sorry.”

He feels warm hands on his cheeks, thumbing at his tears and opens his eyes to see Louis staring up at him, a sad look on his face. “Sh, don’t cry, baby,” he whispers and pulls Harry into his arms. Harry goes easily and hugs Louis tightly. “You know I don’t like it when you cry.”

Harry only cries more, hides his face in Louis’ neck and soaks the collar of the boy’s shirt. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers shakily, murmuring apologies over and over again like a mantra. “I’m so fucking sorry, Louis. I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”

“Sh, I love you too. Come on, baby. Calm down,” Louis whispers in Harry’s ear and runs his fingers through his curls slowly. Harry doesn’t know why Louis is holding him. He shouldn't be, but Harry doesn’t have it in him to say anything about it. He’s missed Louis’ embrace far too much to question it. 

He feels warm hands sliding up the back of his shirt and feels soft lips pressing light kisses from his temple down to his jaw. He’s being pushed back to lie on the couch and he goes easily, still sobbing and fisting Louis’ shirt. His vision is a bit blurred, so he closes his eyes. 

There’s a small, but firm, hand wrapping around his neck and gently tilting his head back. He feels Louis’ warm, wet tongue licking a stripe up his throat, right over the trail of a tear. Harry is so confused, but it feels so nice to have Louis here, so he whimpers and tries to pull Louis closer, squirming. 

“Stay still, darling. Can you do that for me? You’re okay. I’m not going anywhere,” Louis whispers and Harry feels his hand in his hair, tugging just the slightest bit, but it makes Harry let out a soft moan, nod and go pliant beneath Louis’ body.

Louis kisses his nose and murmurs, _good boy_ quietly against Harry’s cheek. It makes Harry blush and smile through his tears because he’s always loved it when Louis praises him. 

A warm hand slides under the sweatshirt he’s wearing and rubs at one of his nipples slowly. Harry lets out a gasp and whimpers, resisting the urge to arch his back because Louis had told him to stay still. The hand slides down again and pulls Harry’s boxers off slowly, Harry’s hips lifting a little to make it easier. 

“There’s a lad, so good for me. How about we get this sweatshirt off?”

Harry is still crying, letting out little shaky breaths and whimpers even though he’s relaxed. It just feels so surreal to have Louis here with him right now, loving him even when Harry had fucked up the worst he ever had in his entire life. But he lifts his arms to helplessly allow Louis to remove the article of clothing from his body. It drops to the floor with a soft sound that Harry’s heavy breathing and quiet sobs drown out. 

Louis runs his hands down Harry’s chest and he stops at his hips, pressing soft and familiar circles into the pale skin. He’s looking down at Harry and Harry looks up at him through wet eyelashes, his eyes closing when Louis leans down and presses his lips to Harry’s. 

His lips are soft, so soft, and so familiar and it makes Harry cry harder, tears running down his face as he puts his hands on Louis’ cheeks and whimpers into the kiss, trying to deepen it. Louis puts his hands on Harry’s neck and squeezes, bites Harry’s lips and tells him to calm down, tells him everything is alright. Harry only nods, brushes his nose against Louis’ and relaxes again even though his eyes are still wet with tears. 

“I love you,” Harry whimpers, swallows Louis’ whispered _I love you too, babe_ as he slides his tongue against the older boy’s and lets out a quiet sob. 

Louis trails a hand down and spreads Harry’s legs, rubs his thumb over his hole and Harry whimpers, closes his eyes as he feels the tip of Louis’ index finger sliding inside of him. He rocks his hips down slightly, trying to feel as much of Louis as he can at the moment. 

He feels warm lips pressing kisses to his inner thighs as the finger inside of him moves in and out before a second one is being pushed in, making Harry whine and sob more. A firm hand is holding his hips still and Harry feels a little spacey already, like he isn’t really there. It’s all so much and all he can think is _LouisLouisLouis_.

“Hey, stay with me, love. Look at me,” Louis whispers and Harry immediately opens his eyes, looking at Louis and nodding a little, lips parting more as he feels a third finger slide inside of him. Louis is pushing his fingers in and out at a slow and steady pace and Harry cries some more, moans and whimpers beneath him. 

The fingers are being pulled out and Harry whines at the loss, closes his eyes as he hears Louis getting his kit off, the articles dropping to the floor and making a little more noise than Harry’s had. 

Harry’s trying to stay with Louis like he had told him to, but he’s so dazed already and he feels light-headed. He distantly hears Louis spit on his hand and he hears the sound of Louis pumping his cock before he feels his warm tip pressing against his hole, rubbing teasingly before slowly pushing inside. Harry lets out a low moan and whimpers, leans his head back and opens his mouth. 

Louis leans down, hovers over Harry and presses little kisses all over his face, murmuring praises and gentle, loving words against his skin. When he’s fully buried inside of Harry, he starts to rock his hips and Harry grips at Louis’ shoulders weakly, buries his face in his neck and sobs openly, little gasps and moans leaving his lips. 

It’s a slow, deep pace and it has Harry panting and slowly slipping, feeling even more spacey and distant as the head of Louis’ cock presses right up against his prostate. He lets out a high-pitched cry and even though he can’t feel the tears streaming from his eyes, he’s aware that he is still crying. He’s crying harder than he was earlier and he’s gripping onto Louis’ shoulders. He only starts to come back when he hears Louis’ gentle voice in his ear, coaxing him out of his spacey feeling.

Harry murmurs little apologies into Louis’ neck repeatedly, whimpering and starting to moan louder and louder as Louis’ thrusts get harder and deeper and faster. He can feel the heat starting to pool in his stomach, but he tries to hold back, wanting to feel Louis like this forever. 

They’re so close right now, closer than they’ve been in months and Harry’s missed it so much that he can’t get enough, can’t stop crying and apologising for his mistakes and telling Louis how much he loves him. He’s glad that Louis doesn’t tell him to shut up because he doesn’t think he’d be able to anyway and he hates to disobey Louis. 

As Louis’ cock continuously rubs at his prostate, he starts to feel spacey again, his body going pliant beneath Louis as he comes all over his stomach with an even louder cry that Harry isn’t even aware he lets out. 

His head is spinning and he feels so light-headed, teetering on the edge of reality and the spacey feeling. He feels Louis come inside of him and lets out another sob as Louis pulls out, pressing kisses all over Harry’s wet cheeks. 

“Are you with me, baby?” he distantly hears in his ear and Harry nods weakly, doesn’t say anything. He just kind of whimpers. 

He feels a soft material wiping the come off of his tummy and then he feels himself being pulled into warm arms that he cuddles into immediately, buries his face in Louis’ neck as Louis whispers praises and _I love you’s_ and compliments against his temple. 

“I love you so much,” he whispers back, barely inaudible, and it’s the last thing he says before he falls asleep, right in Louis’ arms where he should be.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i hope you liked it! leave comments and kudos and all that stuff. my twitter is @lovingharry :)


End file.
